


The Birth of the Sun

by steelneena



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Backstory, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:25:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Number Seven was always important to the Ancient Egyptians. It stood for Perfection, Effectiveness and Completeness. In Chicago, Illinois on August 7th 1890, in 4th Season of Shemu, and on the 1st Day of Mesra/Ⲙⲉⲥⲱⲣⲓ, the month of the birth of the sun, something else was born too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birth of the Sun

**Perfection**

Chicago, Illinois, August 7th 1890

4th Season of Shemu, 1st Day of Mesra _Ⲙⲉⲥⲱⲣⲓ_

It was stifling enough already, the heat unbearable, as it was humid instead of dry, and to add it to the strain of giving birth was nearly too much for Margret. She was sweating and pushing and _laboring_ and enough was simply enough.  The midwife had blocked the curtains down when she’d arrived in the day before, but now, nearly seven hours later, a golden sliver of light was creeping beneath their guard. It cut across Margret’s vision and in a haze, stifling though the heat was, she was hit with sudden clarity.

“Once more then Mrs. O’Connell,” The Midwife, another Irishwoman named Nan Baird, encouraged.

With a final cry of effort, Margret O’Connell brought her child into the world. Moira, her sister, raised the curtain as the squalling child was cut from its lifeline, cleaned and handed over to her. The light streamed in over her babe brightly.

A Boy.

“Richard,” Margret held the child to her breast contentedly. “Richard Patrick O’Connell,”

He was _perfection._ Ten fingers, ten toes, two beautiful blue eyes and a light dusting of fine brown hair atop his head.

“You’re blessed Maggie dear,” Moira hovered next to them, putting a gentle hand to the babe’s head. “He’s a beautiful lad. Jack’ll be glad of it,”

“Indeed,” In the moment, Margret could not have cared less for what her husband thought. Her child was the apple of her eye, the heart of her heart, the very breath inside her lungs.

She was smitten utterly, with his wide eyes gazing up at her.

“Hello Richard,” She murmured softly. Then, he was scooped up by the midwife, and cleaned more thoroughly before being deposited in his crib. Moira and Nan busied themselves with helping Margret clean herself and stripping the sheets, wet with blood and after-birth and the remnants of lifemaking.

Finally, Margret found herself returned to the bed, her boy once more in her arms, and her husband coming in quietly through the doors.

“A boy!” He exclaimed, as he sat down in the chair by her bedside.

“Richard,” She nodded calmly. “He’ll be Richard,”

Jack made a face of generic acceptance as she handed the child off, briefly, to his sire. Richard watched her all the while, the sun streaming in across him like an anointment. Margret shivered at the thought. Something about it felt like a curse rather than a blessing.

He was baptized two months later in the church three blocks down that she and Moira attended at least twice weekly. Jack went, but only on Sunday’s and sometimes work disallowed his ability to be there, and _If we want to stay in this country, Maggie, I’ve to always be on time to work_. It made Moira shake her head in scorn, chiding him with her clicking tongue whenever she was around to hear her brother-in-law speak so. _Naught good’ll come from working on the lord’s day, Jack O’Connell, you mark my words._

Margret ignored most of it. She had eyes only for her baby.

“Richard Patrick O’Connell, I baptize you-“ As the words were spoken, the clouds shifted and Margret nearly lost her hold on the small boy, for the sudden stream of blue, purple, red and gold that fell upon his brow as the sun streamed through the stained glass cascaded over him in tangent with the water.

* * *

Richard was an ordinary boy. In the two years it took him to go from Richard to ‘Rick’, he went from cherubic to chaotic, much like any other child was at that age. Eventually, Margret forgot that she’d ever wondered if there wasn’t something strange about her little boy, whom the sun seemed to kiss at every opportunity.

And from two to age seven, he was more precocious than ever. He spoke with an American accent, much to his father’s chagrin, learnt from the school teachers and the other children in their apartment block. He scraped his knees and played hooky and begrudged Sunday School with the best of them. His brown hair had an auburn tint to it and Margret would run her hands through the strands lovingly and proclaim he needed a haircut. One day, he might refuse her, but at seven, he was more easily swayed on some things than others.

And in his perfect smile, Margret could always see the sun’s reflection.

* * *

**Effectiveness**

August, 1900

Rick’s mother didn’t cry. He knew that well. Even after he heard the yelling, and the bottle breaking, and the door slamming. Even when he asked her when his Dad would be coming home and her only reply was silence. She never cried, except for church. Sometimes, especially if it was Holy Week, she’d cry. _Tears are for Jesus, Richard_ , She would say. _Tears are payment to the Lord, and should only be shed when they are deserved._ Dad didn’t deserve tears, even when he missed Rick’s tenth birthday.  If Mom wouldn’t spare them, than neither would Rick.

Even when his mother decided to leave the country, there were no tears from either of them, though his Aunt Moira sniffed a bit. She’d married a McTaggert and had his cousin, Elsie, five years before. Little Elsie cried too. Rick patted her gently on the back and they boarded the steamer.

The plan had been to return to Ireland, but that changed fast.

“I’ve been offered a job as a nanny, my heart,” Margret said, matter-of-factly. “One of the American couples has three small children. He’s an attaché to the Egyptian government and would like to hire me direct. I’ve decided to accept. How will you like to see the pyramids, Richard?”

Rick’s deep blue eyes widened, along with his smile. “Very much!”

Margret’s hands came to hold his head, and though her face was quite serious, Rick could see her eyes smiling.

“This is a good thing for us, Richard. Very good. Quick decisions, when they aren't thought over proper, get you nowhere, but, if you manage to do both, it’s an effective tool in your belt. Don’t forget that. Think quick, but thoroughly, my heart,”

“And be effective,”

“Yes love, effective,”

* * *

Egypt was everything Rick hoped it would be. The Longs turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to Margret and Rick since his birth. Mr. John Long and his wife were pleasant and generous. They had invited the two O’Connells to live on the estate with them, which was far nicer than the apartment they’d had in Chicago, and Rick was able to continue school with the other children. The older two were girls, and the youngest, a boy of four named David who was too young to be anything of a playmate to Rick, who contented himself with the girls. Charlene and Lillian were fun, and not as annoying as Elsie, seeing as they were quite a lot older. Rick found in them good friends, and he learned far more than he taught.

All girls, it seemed, knew how to be _effective_ , like his mother.  When Lillian wanted something, her heart was dead set on it in a matter of minutes. When Charlene made a plan, it was _settled_. And even Mrs. Long, it seemed, had the same manner in all things. With her children, with the house guests, with her husband and his business partners.

Rick tried not to question it. Instead he found himself not only adapting to it, but also using it in his own way, as his mother had tried to impress upon him. He became _effective_ at school, and in his play. In the end, it served him better than he would have ever guessed.

His mother, three months later, became very ill.

“It’ll be alright, Rick,” Lillian had said to him with a sorry tone. “My father’s sent for a British doctor to come and tend her. All will be well,”

Within a week, Margret Ann O’Connell was dead of the fever, and Rick found himself in a Cairo orphanage run by a missionary priest. Upon Mr. and Mrs. Long’s good grace, the priest had sent a letter to Rick’s Aunt in Chicago, but they never received an answer, the letter being returned to sender. Aunt Moira, it seemed, had moved.

And so Rick used all he’d learned and was effective. Effective in staving off bullies, in making sure he had enough to eat each day, that the other younger children did to. Learned how to save his skin from the soldiers and other rough folk that populated central Cairo. Quick, sharp, thorough thinking characterized his behaviour, and if it was the only thing he ever inherited from his mother, then it was at least one good thing left in his life. And above all, Rick did not cry. His mother was with the Lord, and surely she’d have had cause to find some joy in it, so he didn’t shed a tear. Not even when the strange, dark shadow of a man pulled him from the orphanage and told him to remember his words as the makeshift needle imprinted black designs on the skin of his wrist _. “…it is I whom you seek,”_

Never again.

* * *

 

**Completeness**

London, England O’Connell Manor

1933, Year of the Scorpion

 

“Do you have any family left, do you think, Rick? Back in America I mean?” Evey asked as they lay, she with her head on pillowed on his chest, together in their bed. It was late, and they had turned out the lights almost an hour previous, but the events of the past week still felt heavy on them.

“Why’re you thinking about that now?” He asked his wife, genuinely curious. “You never asked before,”

“I guess I just knew that you wouldn’t want to talk about it. But after everything we just went through, Darling…You, Alex, Johnathan…you’re all I have left,” There was melancholy in her voice, and more than just a tinge of wistfulness. “You lost me, back in Am Shere. I can’t let you deny it any longer,” Suddenly, she propped herself up on one elbow. “I need to know that there’s more for you out there, if it ever happens again,”

“Evelyn…” Rick’s voice wavered, and he put out a gentle hand to her long tendrils of dark hair, brushing them away from her face, his fingers just barely caressing her cheek.

“Don’t deny it again, Rick. I died,”

He hesitated a moment more, holding her gaze tightly.

“You did,”

“It will happen again. Death catches all of us, Darling,” Evey, in return, put a hand to Rick’s cheek, rubbing her thumb gently at the stubbled skin there.

“I know,”

“Promise me, something, Rick. Promise me that whenever it next happens-“

“I cried for you Evelyn,” He interrupted her sentence. “My…my Mother used to say that tears were payment to God, and that they shouldn’t be wasted. I didn’t waste them,”

“I love you too,” Evey’s eyes welled with emotion. She lay her head back down and Rick’s hand came to tangle in her hair. “Tell me of your family?”

There was a moment of heavy silence before Rick spoke.

“My Aunt Moira might still be alive. And her husband. Elise, my cousin. Hell, I might even have a Dad out there somewhere yet but he’s not worth looking for,”

“So we’ll go find your Aunt’s family then?”

“Evey, honey…”

“Rick, darling…”

Rick sighed heavily.

“Can’t hurt to look, I guess,”

“I’ve to get the Museum back in order but we’ll make travel plans for two months from now. I’ve already spoken with Johnathan. He’ll be out of the country, so we don’t have to worry about the house,”

Rick barked a laugh at Evey’s no-nonsense manner.

“Sounds like a plan,”

* * *

Chicago, Illinois, 2 Months Later

Rick fidgeted outside the Office of Public Records. Evey was inside, asking questions and filtering through paperwork while he sat there, watching Alex kick his shoes in the dust. Rick’s shoulders were tense and he felt more than a little uncertain. The last correspondence he’d had with his Aunt was from before he and his mother had arrived in Cairo, thirty-three years prior.

Would they even still be in the city? Was his cousin married? Did he have other cousins he didn’t know about?

It was strange enough just being back on American soil, especially considering it had been almost as long a time since he’d left the country. Thirty-three years and if it were any other country than the US, Rick might have lost his citizenship.

“Dad! Dad look!” Alex was pointing to something, and suddenly Rick found himself being pulled along by the hand. “Isn’t that neat?!” A painted mural on the brick facia of a camel, with the pyramids in the background was depicted there.

“That’s just a cigarette ad, Alex. Come on, let’s go back to the bench. Your Mom could be back any second,”

“But she won’t. This is going to take _forever,_ ” The boy complained. His father only placed a fond hand on his head and steered him back to the spot where they’d elected to wait.

 _But don’t you want to come in with me?_ Evey had asked him. Rick had simply shook his head in the negative. There was something building in him, an emotion for which he had no name. The city was changed, and so had he. How would he feel when he saw them again? Would his family even want to see him? Would they remember him? Recognize him? Would they want to meet Evey? Alex? Everything was coming full circle and Rick wasn't sure if he was ready. If he would ever be ready.

Together, Father and Son plopped back down on the bench in silence.

Twenty long, excruciating minutes later, Evey exited the building, a slip of paper in hand.

“Well, it took a bit of doing, but I’ve got it!” Her eyes were bright with joy as she handed him the sheaf. Written on it in Evey’s fine cursive were several names and addresses. She pointed to one specifically. “That’s your Aunt, Darling,”

“Awesome! Can we go now?” Alex asked, craning his neck to see the paper.

“Yes, Alex, we can go now,” Evey smiled at their son, pulling him close with an arm around his shoulders. “Rick, shall we?”

Rick nodded, still gazing at the paper he held. He walked as if in a dream to the cab that Evey had flagged down for them, and allowed her to give the driver the address, allowed the drive to pass him by, his senses dulled. Alex’s prattle was white noise, and he missed the looks that Evey was giving him in between her indulgent responses to their son’s many inquiries.

He was going to see his Aunt.

Moira McTaggert had looked an awful lot like her sister. Both women had been of fair complexion, with auburn hair and blue-grey eyes. Moira was taller, more willowy than he remembered his mother as being, and had a harsher tongue too.

_Richard Patrick O’Connell I should wash your mouth out for that!_

Inadvertently, Rick smiled.

* * *

The house that the taxi stopped in front of was a quiet, quaint place. Evey and Alex exited and Rick sat, looking.

“You getting out, or not?” The cabbie asked him after a moment. Wordlessly, Rick opened the door. The taxi drove off behind him as Evey put her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Darling?” She asked, tentative.

Rick didn’t say a word.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Alex’s small hand found its way into Rick’s and together the family walked to the front door. As they took the first steps, the sun found its way out from behind a cloud and its rays fell gently across Rick’s face, kissing his hair golden.

Evey put out a hand and knocked.

 

_To seek without finding, equals waste of time._

_\- Papyrus of Ani_

**Author's Note:**

> I looked through the entire coptic calender to write this fic, and I chose those dates, ages and months which I thought best fit with the character of Rick O'Connell. I've chosen to elaborate on things which don't have the greatest continuity in canon (ie where the orphanage that Rick lived at was located) but decided to stick most closely with the film. His father's name comes from the cartoon, but I've elected to ignore anything else regarding the cartoon. His dad leaves because he's a drunk asshole, nothing else.  
> John G. Long was really the ambassador to Egypt in 1900. I have no idea if he had a wife or children. I looked and couldn't find anything.  
> Even though this doesn't touch anywhere near Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, I elect to ignore the canon of those events in any of my Mummy fic, current or subsequent.


End file.
